


Withdrawal

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 12:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: How the C.S.M.'s revenge on Mulder is thwarted by Alex Krycek





	Withdrawal

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Withdrawal By Megaera

2 October 1998  
TITLE: Withdrawal  
AUTHOR: Megaera  
DATE: September 1998  
E-MAIL:   
FEEDBACK: Always welcome  
DISTRIBUTION: Any time any place anywhere, but only if you enjoyed the story.  
RATING: NC-17  
CONTENT WARNING: m/m sex implied. Violence, Drug dependence  
CATEGORY: M/K  
SPOILERS: None  
KEYWORDS: Mulder against the C.S.M.  
SUMMARY: How the C.S.M.'s revenge on Mulder is thwarted by Alex Krycek  
DISCLAIMER: All X Files Characters belong to Chris Carter and Fox, I've just borrowed them for a while. I am not making any profit out of this, it's just for entertainment.   
COMMENTS: This story was invented one long sleepless night at about 2a.m. Any depiction of drug dependence in fiction must involve descriptions of substance abuse and its consequences. I make no apology for this. I hope it encourages people not to get involved in such a despicable business.

* * *

Withdrawal  
By Megaera  


*************

The first time they came, he tried to fight, tried not to let them near him. He had woken, groggy and aching, lying on the hard mattress of a bunk, his hand cuffed to the wall. Sometime in the previous night, they had taken him from his apartment, too many of them to fight. Given him something to keep him quiet during the long drive. They weren't gentle in their handling of him.

He must have lost consciousness somewhere in the terror of it, to wake in daylight in this shabby little room. He didn't know who they were, and he tried to keep the fear at bay, by thinking of something, anything else. The latest baseball game he had seen, the details of his last few cases, the latest political infighting in the office. It hadn't worked. The moment the door to the little room had opened, the fear had come rushing back. Who were they? What did they want? Why did they have to kidnap him?

"What the hell do you want?" Asking the question. Trying not to provoke them, but still not thinking clearly. There was no reply, which was in its own way, more terrifying. Shouting it then, unable to keep the edge of fear out of his voice. 

"Listen, I'm in the F.B.I. It'll cause you a lot of trouble to keep me here, my colleagues will be looking for me". Trying to reason with them, like trying to raise the dead. No response. Three big goons, just staring at him. His face constricted in fear. Then one of them grinned. As if on cue they moved in on him. He tried to shrink back, away from them, useless. He kicked out at them with all his strength, swung his free arm in a desperate arc. He felt the satisfactory thud as he caught the nearest heavy, a blonde crewcut, in the stomach with his foot. But then the other two were on him, pinning him down. With a savage look of satisfaction, the heavy drove a fist into his stomach, and he doubled over in pain. One of the others, a dark haired soldier type barked something at his attacker, and the man subsided with a glance of hatred. Then the nightmare began. The soldier type pulled something from his pocket, pulled the protective plastic cover off, and plunged the needle he had uncovered into a small bottle filled with a white solution. He drew off a syringe full, and the blonde grinned nastily. Mulder knew then that this was going to be bad.

He struggled, uselessly , of course. Tried to get away. Tried to throw off the strong arms holding him still. In the end, he needn't have bothered. The conclusion of his little rebellion was inevitable. A hand pulling up his sleeve while one man sat on him to hold him down, and the other held his arm immobile. The sharp sting of the needle going in. The heavy feeling of the drug being pushed under his skin. The momentary ache as the needle was withdrawn. Dizziness began to descend on him. He shook his head, trying to focus again. A curious lassitude seemed to be surging through his veins. He was floating, hearing distant laughter. The world seemed to be taking on brilliant colours that whispered on the edge of his perception. Then the rush hit his system. He was surging high into the air. Nothing was impossible. Such glorious feeling, like a thousand fireworks going off in his skull. Some part of him knew it was the drug they had given him, but nothing seemed to matter any more except that brilliant emotion flowing through his veins. 

He would never know how long the hit lasted, but coming down afterwards was a descent into hell. The wild emotional high began to subside, replaced by incredible lethargy. A dull ache began in his head. A thousand needles pricking his skin A wave of nausea hit his system, incredibly violent stomach cramps that doubled him over, until he was puking his guts out on the floor. Pain making him sob in agony as if his arms and legs had suddenly had their circulation restored after a week of imprisonment. In all, the hit must have lasted less than an hour, but the aftermath had the effect of crippling his body for at least six hours, of utter hell and torment.

He lay huddled on the narrow bunk shaking as if he had a fever. He couldn't seem to get warm, and the fear was back. At least during his ordeal, he hadn't been able to think coherently. Now a thousand different speculations filled his mind. He clung to the thought of rescue with a foolish, desperate hope.

The next event of any significance was the return of the dark haired heavy. He looked in disgust at the vomit, evidence that Mulder's body had betrayed him. The agent couldn't have moved against him, not when he felt so dizzy and cramped, but all three watched him while the mess was cleaned up. A jug of water and a plate of some sort of stew were left for him, though at the moment he could barely lift his head. He drifted into an uneasy sleep, then managed to eat some of the vile congealed food, tried to clean himself in the small sink that the cuff allowed him to reach. Fortunately, the toilet features were also accessible, though his body had to be positioned awquardly to use it.

It was morning, he could tell because there was a small skylight in the roof. The door opened and the grinning blonde and his companions came in again. He lifted his head warily, tried to move away, instinctively afraid.

"Time for your daily dose Agent Mulder!". The blonde was enjoying this //Oh god. Not again. Please. Not again//Not that he had a lot of choice. His struggles were weaker today, it was easier for them to complete their task. They were barely out of the door before the rush hit him, this time. His body was becoming accustomed to the drug already. And the rush was just as good, the hell afterwards just as much of a nightmare.

For a week the same routine was imposed upon him. A daily dose of the drug, food and sleep. And each day the terror deep inside him seemed to increase. A part of him was beginning to crave the high that the injections brought. His body was becoming accustomed to it, in fact. And the aftermath became that much more painful, the spasms that racked his body seeming to increase in intensity. Most of the day after he had come down, his brain refused to work properly, he seemed to exist in a fog of pain and lethargy.

After a week, the routine that he had become used to changed. They began to give it to him twice a day. Sometimes he feebly tried to fight it, but his body had lost most of its coordination, he could barely even manage to use the head. His days were becoming a drug fogged haze of pain and pleasure alternating. And by the third week, the doses they gave him were no longer enough to satisfy the craving for that high. So the dosage was increased. He had few lucid moments now. No curiosity now to know why they were doing this. There was only the dark pain, and the terrible gut clenching, nauseating craving for the drug. When he began to beg for more, he wasn't sure, but it was given to him. Until the day of hell when he fell into the abyss that had been so carefully engineered for him.

He waited, doubled up on the dirty mattress, the need a bright hot spike inside him longing for the glorious moment when it would be given to him, his saviour, his strength, his glory his monster. And waited, and waited. At some point, the craving became something darker, not just a twisting inside him, but a burning white hot compulsion. His body began to shake uncontrollably, the shudders almost convulsions as withdrawal began to claim his body. He heard himself screaming, begging, crying, desperately sobbing, pleading with them to bring back that bright glory that his body craved so much. The pain went on and on and on. His body was alternately racked by shivers and gut clenching nausea. Bright mirror shards tearing at his flesh from the inside. An intense itching feeling all over his skin, so that his own fingernails carved tracks across his body, trying to stop the insects from running around under his skin. He began to hallucinate, vast shimmering monsters wound their way round the walls of his cell, lights and stars swirling round him. A figure moved in the dream, gently brushed the hair back from his sticky, sweat lined forehead. The C.S.M.

"It seems you have a little problem, Agent Mulder". Again that touch. "I have something you want very much. The question is, how much are you willing to pay to get it?"

//Anything. Please. Anything. Just give it to me. Please//

More injections, maintaining the addiction in his body. Occasionally withdrawing the drug, until he had satisfied their requirements. Again and again, until reality and dream worlds were fused beyond his ability to separate them.

***************

Alex had been watching the C.S.M. for some time now, a prudent move on his part, as the black lunged bastard's secrets could one day save his life. For instance, he knew that there were visits two or three times a week to the warehouse near the airport freight district. Natural curiosity, and a desire to find something useful to use against him were the main motivating factors behind his decision to break in to the factory. He staked out the place and it was soon evident that three goons were the C.S.M.'s men on the site. Most of the time, at least two were present, but on Friday nights, that usually went down to only one. 

Picking the lock carefully, he sneaked in through the side door, and down a long corridor, lined with doors. He checked out several, finding empty rooms or dusty offices. The last thing he expected to find was a body huddled on a cot, naked and shivering. A low moan came from the figure in the gloom. Alex felt a twinge of pity for the C.S.M.'s latest victim, he'd been there, done that. Then with a pathetic whimper, Mulder turned to face him. The first thing he felt was shock. The agent's face was streaked with tears. He looked thinner and his face was shadowed with pain. Then a racking spasm hit his former partner, and the lean body doubled up in agony. He screamed then, a shocking sound from someone Alex had always thought of as strong.

"Please! Oh please! I need it! Please".

The door clicked open behind Alex, he whirled to face the blonde army type who he had seen coming on duty. Instantly Krycek reacted, kicking his leg out sideways to smash into the man's knee, bringing him down with the unexpected move. Then a quick blow with the butt of his gun and Alex had knocked him senseless. He quickly bent and searched the goon, finding several items of interest. A key to the cuff on Mulder's wrist. And a small drug bottle with a hypodermic case.

Mulder stopped screaming. In fact he was staring at Alex with such an intense desire that the younger man reddened, looking flustered. 

"Mulder? What's wrong?", for it was obvious that something wasn't right with his honest, straight, former partner.

"Give it to me", he whispered, "Please. Give it to me". And Alex realised that Mulder wasn't looking at him at all, but at the little bottle he held in his hand. He stared in shock. And when he didn't automatically move to comply, the agent sighed softly. A desperate look came into his eyes.

"Please Alex! I know how to do things that you'll like. Please give it to me". Then in a despairing voice, "You can do it to me if you like, Alex. Just give me it'. Do you want me to beg. I can do nice things for you. Do you want me to do that?"

Alex stared at Mulder, a sick feeling twisting his insides as he listened to the man beg and plead with him. Slowly he took the drug out of his pocket and reluctantly filled the syringe. Then drove the needle into Mulder's arm. He fell back in ecstasy, as Alex stared at the dozens of needle tracks across Mulder's arms. For some reason that he couldn't have named, the sight made tears prickle at the back of his eyes. This was stupid, crazy, he didn't need the risk it would bring, so why was he unlocking Mulder's wrist, pulling the agents body towards his car, and driving, driving far away to his cabin hideout in the woods. That black lunged bastard had a lot to answer for this time.

Mulder was beginning to come out of his drug induced high, by the time they came to the isolated cabin. Alex still had to drag the limp body into shelter though, his legs wouldn't seem to work properly and he was beginning to shiver uncontrollably as withdrawal hit. He moaned feverishly, then unexpectedly, his body doubled over as the cramps hit. He began to scream again as white hot knives seemed to drive their way into his stomach. At some point he vomited helplessly. Alex stared in disbelief at the wreck his former partner had become. The spasms were convulsing his body now alternating with great wracking sobs. Then with a gentleness he had never suspected lay inside him, the younger man began to clean up Mulder's mess. He pulled the shuddering body onto his bed after he had done his best to wash the dirt from the haggard face and body. Then he sank down onto the side of the bed next to Mulder, staring at him in pity and more than a little regret.

Mulder's movements woke him from a light doze. Fingers sliding over his body, digging in to his pockets. "Where is it?", he said fiercely.

"Where have you put it Alex? I need it Alex, give me it. Please". His voice took on almost a whining note. Alex pulled away from the questing hands, moved off the bed. Helplessly, unable to coordinate his movements properly, Mulder tried to grab at him. Then the sobs began again. 

"Damn you Mulder", Alex began to shout at him then. "Why the hell did you let them do that to you?". Hazel eyes watched him, pleading silently, but at the same time Alex saw the sly addicts' expression come across the haunted face. He couldn't trust Mulder then. The man would do anything to satisfy his craving now. He was a danger to himself and his rescuer. 

//Damn! Did I think this was going to be easy then? I guess I thought he would want to give it up//

Reluctantly, he knew what he would have to do. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs and reaching down, clipped one on Mulder's wrist. Mulder was incapable of resisting at that moment. He forced himself to ignore the desperate look of terror and vulnerability that crossed Mulder's face, and clipped the cuff to the wrought iron bedhead.

The next few hours were , as he had anticipated, total hell for both of them. Mulder screaming at him, fighting to free himself like some trapped wild animal. Shouting obscenities that Alex would never have associated with the Mulder he had known before. Begging and pleading with him. And the withdrawal symptoms taking him, convulsing the lean body. The agonising tormenting pains that shot through his skin, so that Alex had to sit on him to stop himself scratching at his skin in torment. It was then that he cuffed the other arm. The hallucinations that came and went. Mulder at one point seemed to be having a conversation with his kidnappers, offering them anything in return for a fix. Something about the way he said that made the hairs stand up on the back of Krycek' neck. Finally, he could stand it no longer, and went outside. He found himself chopping half a Winter's worth of wood, taking out his anger and frustration, and yes, his anguish, on the wood.

When he went back inside, Mulder lay quiet finally, deeply unconscious. Sweat was pouring off his body and his forehead burned as if he had a fever. Somehow he managed to drag the limp body into the shower and held it there while cool water cascaded round them. And he admitted to himself that he had always wanted Mulder in the shower with him. But not like this. The coolness seemed to help the fever a little, and afterwards the agent slept in exhaustion, Alex too, lost himself in sleep.

He was woken early that morning by broken sobs from the bed. Mulder stared at him, with such despair, it hurt just to look at him.

"Please!". A whispered plea. He shook his head firmly. One thing he wasn't going to do was feed the addiction again. He wasn't ever letting that bastard win Mulder again, not if he could help it.

"Mulder! Listen to me! I'm not giving you any. Do you hear me! You're going to have to do without it. I'm not watching while you kill yourself! So don't even bother to ask for it!". By the time the last words came out of his mouth, he was shouting at the cowering man. Mulder watched him for a moment, then the tears began to run down his face.

"Why are you angry at me Alex? I'll try and do what you want. I'll be good. If you give me it, I can be so grateful". Alex listened to the words in disbelief. He could guess now what the price was that Mulder had paid, to satisfy his craving. He grabbed the agent's shoulders, shook him roughly. 

"Damn you Mulder! Why did you have to tell me that". Then he was crying himself, at so many lost times, so many regrets. What he and this man could have become, if only a certain bastard hadn't interfered in their lives.

He tended Mulder silently over the next few long, miserable days. Never stopping to wonder why it had become so important to him to win this particular round of the great game. Mulder stopped pleading, his words never stirring a response now in his new captor. He just stared with anguished, suffering eyes at Alex, as the pain went on and on and on. More cramps, hot spikes driving into his body, alternate burning and freezing. Cool water sometimes quenching a vast thirst that seemed to torment him. The world in a haze of pain, distant on the edge of perception. Sweet hot drinks, filled with sugar, to get some nourishment into his body. And once or twice when the torment became too much even for Alex to bear, the temporary dangerous haven of a sleeping pill, to take him away from the world of agony. And always, Alex was there to cling to, when there was nothing else to keep him away from the darkness.

He woke one morning, for the first time in an eternity, able to string more than two thoughts together. It was hard to remember where he was, or why he was handcuffed to an old bed. A vague memory of cruel laughter, pain, the feel of a hard body hurting him as it'. As it'.. //No he wouldn't think of that!//

The door opened and Alex Krycek walked in. He stared, his eyes a mixture of hatred and dread at the man who held him captive. For a moment the younger man didn't realise the change in Mulder. He settled on the bed, gently reached up to brush away the sweat dampened hair on Mulder's forehead. Mulder jerked his head away, before the hand could touch him. Alex's eyes widened, then something close to a grin crossed his face. It made him look oddly young and vulnerable, for a moment.

"Do I take it you're back in the land of the living, Mulder?". The words should have been mocking, but somehow the look in his eyes stopped Mulder from making a smart arsed remark in return. Had he really seen deep concern in Alex Krycek's eyes?

He settled on a glare at his nemesis. "Are you responsible for me being trussed up like this Krycek?"

Again Krycek surprised him. His smile was gentle. "I guess so, Mulder".

"What the hell do you think you're doing with me?". A sigh.

"Don't you remember, Mulder?"

//Yes. The burning need. The smell of smoke in his nostrils. The taste of it in his mouth after he had'.//

"No!" The abrupt look of panic and distress on the agent's face that belied the denial. 

"Tell me!" Alex's voice, merciless, implacable, rejecting all concealment.

"He '.he made me do it to him. Suck him off. I wanted to do it. He was going to be good to me".

Alex's voice again, cold as ice. "Was he good to you Mulder?"

"Yes! No! I don't know". Mulder was beginning to sob now. "Tell me!". The steel in that voice.

"He gave me what I wanted'. Until the next time, when he'.. took more. Oh god! Alex! Help me! He raped me!". Then he was held as he wept brokenly. And distantly, he heard Alex sob too. 

"I know. Oh Mulder, I know". And Fox Mulder never doubted that he did.

When Mulder slid into a haunted restless sleep. Alex undid the cuffs on his wrists, gently cared for the bruised wrists, and then let himself sleep, his head pillowed on the bed near Mulder. The movement of the bed as Mulder began to stir, woke him. Eyes opened, a sleepy smile into green eyes. Then memory returned. A grimace of anguish crossed his face. 

"Alex. Tell me what's been going on. I think a few things got left out last night. I remember the C.S.M'." He paused, and his fists clenched as a momentary tremor ran through his body. Alex reached out his hand and gently drew back the sleeve on the old jumper he had given Mulder. The agent's breath hissed as he saw the marks on his arms.

"I got you out", Alex said quietly, "but it's taken you two weeks to come down from whatever that shit was, that they pumped into you. You're not even free of it yet! You'll be feeling its effects for a long time". He saw the shock and wretchedness on Mulder's face

"Why do you care Alex?". The voice filled with sudden despair.

"Damn you Fox Mulder! Don't you know I've always cared about you!". The angry words, when they came out, were as great a shock to Alex as they were to Mulder. It must have shown in his face, for Mulder gave a hoarse laugh. "We're both fucked up then, Alex!". He began to laugh too. Then Mulder's face twisted in agony. He screamed as another withdrawal spasm shook his body. Somehow, though it was a far weaker reaction than the convulsions that had arrived straight after withdrawal, it was worse this time. Now a conscious and fully aware Mulder stared at him in bewilderment, as his body betrayed him again.

//The NEED. The bright and shining sharpness of the NEED//

 Somehow Alex was on the bed beside him drawing the terrified agent into his arms, soothing the pain as best he could. Rubbing the aching muscles. And Mulder gripped his shoulders painfully as he rode the pain as best he could.

Mulder huddled against Alex, lost in a haze of misery. The pain began to ease a little. It terrified him that in those long minutes, he had been out of control. The pain had driven him. Even the thought of that agony brought a fresh sob from him. It seemed like he could remember being held like this before, as his body rebelled. He lifted his eyes to his former partner's face, and found himself staring into green, green eyes, so filled with concern and love.

"Shhh Mulder, I won't leave you. I promise".

Twice more that night, the pains hit, and it was no easier to bear. Though the pain came less often , and its intensity was decreasing, he still felt his sanity beginning to fray. There was only one support in the misery his life had become. A pair of strong arms and those eyes. Mulder clung to him as the sobs rocked his body. Even after the spasms had passed, he wouldn't let go of Alex. The terror in his eyes. Alex held him like a child, whispering gentle reassurance in his ear. He drew Mulder's head down until it was resting on his chest

"Shhh love. You know I won't abandon you". Mulder clung to him desperately. Alex was warm and safe. Finally, the shock and confusion seemed to leave his face. But instead of drawing back, he buried his face in the crook of Alex's neck, and sighed softly. He felt Alex tense against him, and lifted his eyes to look into green pools of light. 

"When did I start needing you Alex? I think it was when I was in hell, and you wouldn't come down into it with me. I can remember more now. Like offering you whatever part of me you wanted, if only you'd give me the drug". He reached up a hand and traced it along Alex's jawline.

"I never wanted you like that!". The voice was fierce, protective. Like a lion protecting cubs. Mulder leaned forward and kissed him then.

"Don't ever leave me, Alex!". Half afraid, half hungry for the strength of loving arms around him. 

"Fox. My Fox!". And the fire of his kisses were only surpassed by their gentleness, as he tenderly kissed Mulder's face. It was the first time Fox Mulder had felt hope in a long time.

*************

Finis

\--   
megaera  
Dark Angel of the Web


End file.
